


from around the world with love

by queenberena



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenberena/pseuds/queenberena
Summary: Air hostess/Passenger AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the air hostess/passenger au that no one asked for. there will be some parts that are canon for Bernie and Serena, other parts will be very much au. let's just go with it!
> 
> this chapter just sets the scene, and allows our leading ladies to meet.

"Now _we request your full attention as the flight attendants demonstrate the safety features of this aircraft."_

 

A delicate, and equally delightfully sweet, raspy voice penetrates firmly through the intercom system. Loud and clear over the hum of idle chatter and rustles of boarded passengers.

 

And she repeats confidently in perfect Spanish, because they are in the Costa Del Sol, after all; _sexy and husky_.

 

This monotonous procedure is routine. Bernie's witnessed it all before; several times. She's a flying regular. Probably could recite the entire exercise by heart, if she _wants_ to. Never really focuses properly anymore, usually delved deep in a file of intense paperwork, enchanting rich eyes fixated on the hundreds of complex words.

 

Today is different. Bernie's head instantly tilts up as the captivating, husk of a truly beautiful voice dances melodiously in her ear drums. Squints to try and perceive the unfamiliar face behind the words; strains her eyes rather than rummage through her handbag to locate her glasses in case she misses a tiny glimpse.

 

Clad in a classy, navy skirt suit, sleek legs rather teasing in opaque tights. She has poise and elegance. Tenacious. Traces of a crisp white blouse peer out from beneath the blazer with a delicious neckline. A trademark, compulsory burgundy and blue silk scarf is interlaced neatly at her neck; the matching burgundy heels and lipstick brim with assertion and confidence. Heels _so_ high that Bernie wonders how she can function in them.

 

Her eyes are bright, unwavering and glittering; a sensational, deep amber. Pearly-white teeth are displayed in an infectious grin as smoothly continues to address and inform passengers with imperative health and safety details that could save their lives. And she performs with such vitality and passion.

 

Bernie doesn't recognises this crew member. Must be new, she figures. She can name the other attendants with ease, has learnt their names off by heart now after so many flights in their company.

 

There's Dom who always manages to look even more disheveled than Bernie herself, if that's even possible - probably accurate, because she's witnessed him soaking up the Spanish nightlife on many an occasion. He's behind her.

 

And Morven, with a spectacular mane of tight black curls that always looks immaculate. She's smart and witty. Very enthusiastic, even at five o'clock on the morning. She's demonstrating on the adjacent aisle.

 

Then there's Jasmine; a sweet girl who is by far the youngest recruit. Always brimming with delightful energy and _forever_ in trouble with flight attendant Jac - with the glasses and long, straight red hair that matches her fiery attitude, and razor sharp cheekbones that Bernie's convinced _could_ kill.

 

Essie completes the team. Very much the sensible one.

 

_"In the event of an emergency, please assume the bracing position."_

 

The air hostess demonstrates, gracefully perches on a seat reserved for crew and in prime view; leans forwards with her hands on top of her head (ends up unintentionally ruffling the short, silky chestnut locks and Bernie thinks it's rather sweet) and her elbows against her thighs, ensures her feet are flat against the floor, even in those _ridiculous_ heels.

 

_"Oxygen and the air pressure are always being monitored. In the event of a decompression, an oxygen mask will automatically appear in front of you."_

 

The brunette instructs how to correctly fit the mask and start the flow of oxygen, places it firmly over her nose and mouth and secures the elastic behind her head. Reminds passengers to fit their own masks first before assisting any children or people requiring help. And that it shouldn't be removed until a uniformed crew member advises so.

 

Then goes on to explain that life vests are located in a pouch under the seats and shows how to correctly and safely where it with a verbal commentary; slips it over her head in a single gesture, passes the straps around her waists and adjusts them at the front and inflates the vest by tugging the red cord and then tells how to blow into the mouthpieces to refill the vest if necessary.

 

_"Use the whistle and light to attract attention. Also, your sear bottom cushion can be used as a floatation device. Pull the cushion from the seat, slip your arms into the straps, and hug the cushion to your chest."_

 

She continues her pitch, those eyes bubbling with optimism and hope lock for a split second with the blonde's, then rotate to another passenger. Bernie feels her cheeks begin to blush a rosy tint of pink, instantly dips her head shamefully. Knows her heart definitely skipped a beat. Misses that those beautiful, daring orbs repeatedly hover back to gaze at _her_.

 

_"Your pilots today are Raf Di Lucca and Adrian Fletcher. Now, please sit back and enjoy the flight with Holby Airlines. We will be landing in Gatwick, London in approximately two hours fifty-five minutes."_

 

The cabin crew swiftly resume their positions in their designated seats, buckle up and prepare for take off. And it isn't long before Serena and Morven are wheeling out the overflowing light refreshment trolleys into the aisles.

 

"Can I get you any beverages or a light snack?" She's polite and gracious, features polished with a warm smile. Very new _and_ very eager to please.

 

Bernie's engaged in a rather messy file, scanning the contents with hearty, exasperated sighs as she shuffles through the muddled papers. Wisely, she had opted to concentrate on the latest addition, _more like abundances_ , of paperwork submitted by her lawyer instead of so blatantly gawping at the new flight attendant. She's been caught staring once; now she tries to be discreet and restraint.

 

And she's in such an internal huff with Marcus, regarding the most recent demands set out by his representative, with anger saturating through her veins as she digests the next strategies and facts, that she's oblivious to the details that the air hostess is talking to her.

 

She clears her throat with a hum, "You look like you could do with a coffee." It's a statement, not an offer.

 

She's correct. All this jargon _is_ exhausting. Bernie will require an injection of caffeine if she's going to survive this gruelling, and no doubt draining, meeting ahead.

 

Bernie tilts her head up, and their eyes meet again. Breath hitching, she confirms that her heart beat is certainly arrhythmic right now. Uncharacteristically shyly, she utters her apologies and presses her lips into a tight smile. "Got anything stronger?"

 

"Well, we have an extensive list of wines and spirits." Manicured fingertips skilfully grasp a drinks menu and hands it to the passenger, "I'd recommend a generous glass of our finest shiraz. Always found it to be the perfect companion for paperwork!"

 

Bernie contemplates for a moment, crinkles her nose ever so slightly at the prospect of wine. Her eyes swivel absentmindedly, and she learns that the new hostess is called _Serena_. Then announces simply, "I'm more of a whiskey kinda girl, actually."

 

Serena recites the concise number of scotch options they stock, doesn't offer a recommendation because whisky is just whiskey isn't it? Earns herself a scornful glare before things lighten again.

 

"I better hadn't." Shaking her head dismally, her loose blonde curls ebb at her jawline and frame her face. "Turning up intoxicated to _another_ divorce meeting with our lawyers and that wretched man certainly won't do me any extra favours. Not like he needs the excuse to take anything _more_ from me."

 

Serena groans in sympathy with a sad yet uplifting smile, "Oh, I am a full, executive member of the embittered ex wives club. If you needs any tips, I'll gladly assist. My advice; take him for _everything_ he's got! My ex husband would have taken every last fish finger from the freezer if I'd let him!"

 

"I _may_ just have to take you up on that one day." Bernie nods gratefully whilst fishing her purse from her handbag. "I'll take a coffee with an extra shot please."

 

"Coming right up." Serena carefully and efficiently dispenses steaming, freshly brewed coffee into a disposable cup. Clicks the machine, allows it to whir for a few seconds and adds the extra expresso into the cup.

 

"That's three pound ten pence, please." A crisp note is handed over, and the flight attendant counts out the correct change promptly and returns the coins. Soon learns that she should have fixed the lid firmly in place on the cup beforehand as turbulence hits the aircraft and generates an off-balanced jostle and the dark liquid flies from the cup in a fountain and lands on Bernie when Serena wobbles.

 

Bernie quickly establishes that she evidently _cannot_ function in those damn heels all the time and curses as the coffee stains her white shirt and dampens her black, tailored trousers and soaks her beige jacket that lay innocently across her lap when she'd become overly warm. _Ruined_.

 

"I'm so so sorry-" Serena's extremely apologetic and mortified at her error, handing over copious napkins that are absolutely no help whatsoever. Proffers another complementary coffee, which is curtly declined.

 

"That looks _terribly_ expensive," She lifts up the coat and examines the damage carefully, "Please, allow me to get this cleaned for you professionally, it's the least I can do-"

 

"Yes, it _is_." The blonde hisses, "Have it ready for the 14:05 flight from Gatwick back to the Costa Del Sol on Thursday. I assume you're working that flight?"

 

Serena confirms with a nod, "Yes, yes I am. Of course. It'll be as good as new." She promises and hastily scarpers.

 

"Names Bernie. _Bernie Wolfe_. Just so there's no mix up in whom that jacket belongs to."

 

"Duly noted." Serena assures as she pirouettes tidily, "Not that I could _ever_ forget you."

 

Bernie glances at the petite watch decorating her slender right wrist, wonders if she'll have time after she's landed to check into the hotel and change into a clean attire. Concludes probably not; she was pushing it for time in the first place. _This_ , even more disheveled look than normal was going to make an even _greater_ impression that would undoubtedly _not_ work in her favour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Bernie's last episode of holby has just aired. Our big macho army medic is finally getting the happiness she deserves, and it's a nice optimistic ending. I want to try and get back into writing, so here's the next chapter.

 

Fresh from an arduous court hearing, Bernie's rushes to the airport with her blood boiling and still very much enraged and bitter and ruffled at the encountering with Marcus. Bustles through check in and just makes her flight; the sensible, sturdy heels of her shoes echoing through the air and she boards the plane with rosy cheeks of fluster.

 

She locates her allocated aisle seat with little fuss, stuffs the petite, perfectly-sized suitcase into cabin storage and slumps heavily into the chair. Relishes the relieving sensation as the soft foam bares the weight of her body and sinks further into the cushioning.

 

Her feet ache; those heeled shoes were not designed for running. Especially paired with a haste of the moment purchased pencil skirt and, now laddered, opaque tights. With a quick flick, she kicks the shoes off, stretches and uncurls her crushed toes. _They'll help with the case, give you more assertion, she was told._ She's adapted to the comfort of study military issue boots, and more lately, snug trainers on the ward or bare foot as she roams the white sand beaches of the Costa Del Sol.

 

Bernie starts to reflect and analyse the morning's presentment. Grills herself on how twenty-five years of marriage can collapse - crash and burn - to this. She scoffs curtly, it's not humble matrimony, speculates that what they had evidently was fractured and flawed. Considers how she even _survived_.

 

Pure anger bubbles through her veins, fuelled from the reveal of statements, written by both her children, in extensive detail, with reference to her failings as both a wife and a mother. She wonders what she did so _so_ wrong. Wonders how her own flesh and blood could be _so_ brutal and ruthless.

 

She rolls her head back against the seat, scrunches her eyes shut. Knows that she forbids herself to sob until she's tucked away in her apartment, blinds pulled down and the scotch is burning raw as it trickles down her throat, in the darkness.

 

The aircraft accelerates through the dense haze of thick clouds, whizzes through what is generally considered as the worst turbulence of the ascend and continues to climb to cruising altitude. As the illuminated seatbelt light flashes dull, the flight attendants regain equilibrium and begin their duties.

 

Bernie's vaguely conscious of a young woman, probably a similar age to her own daughter, who's been constantly heaving since take off. Fleetingly considers offering her condolences but as she ponders, Serena's already there with comforting support. She raises her eyebrow momentarily, thinks it's going to be a long flight.

 

A flight attendant softly interrupts her chain of thought, and offers refreshments with a kind smile and bright charisma. Tilting her gaze upwards, she ponders briefly. It's too early in the day for the heavy spirits. Considers a glass of finest red to chill her nerves; promptly decides against it, it _could_ stain her white shirt. So would coffee - and she's agitated enough. Although, it's Essie serving, so she should be okay. But swiftly concludes she isn't risking ruining another of her beloved shirts and politely declines.

 

The best medicine she can think of would be a long, exhilarating run along the beach. Inhaling deeply and flooding her lungs with the fresh, salty air. Evolving negative energy into something more positive. The wispy breeze dancing through her mane and cooling her face. Millions of tiny grains of rich sand between her toes as she pounds the coastline, harmonies of placid, rippling waves delightful to her ears; the perfect soundtrack.

 

Followed by decent whiskey and wise words from her partner. The woman whom's enchanting charm captured her heart, and consequently lead to the shattering of her marriage. The woman she _thinks_ she loves.

 

She still isn't sorry for who her heart fell in love with. Just regrets the hurt and pain she has blindly instigated along the way. Hurt and pain she is trying to fix. But broken hearts are tricky. And Marcus is still - even after months - in the very much bitter, backlashing revenge stage. Can't say she blames him.

 

They descend into the warms air of the Costa Del Sol, landing precisely on time and the golden rays of sunshine are dazzling and alluring. _Home_ , Bernie thinks.

 

Everyone leaves the aircraft in orderly fashion, basking the rich sunshine and heat that instantly smothers their skin. Bernie inhales a long, deep breath, allows the fresh, although burning hot, air to saturate her lungs. It feels satisfying; heavenly. Infused with whiffs of sea salt, tropical scents of pineapple and coconuts growing high in the trees.

 

It's in the airport arrival lounge, as she basks the cool air of the ventilation system - her outfit is more suited to the dreary British climate of chilly rain than the humidity and blazing sun of Spain - when Bernie notices the same young women from the flight still heaving acutely.

 

Her inner doctor instincts kick in. Because, they never really leave, now drilled deep within her walls. She's always prepared for an emergency.

 

"Hello, my name is Bernie and I'm a doctor." Bernie descends in front of the female, offer a friendly and reassuring smile, tight across her lips, rocks steadily on her heels. "I can't help but notice; well, I'm rather concerned actually. How long have you had this severe nausea? Any other symptoms?"

 

"I'm-" She heaves again, suppressing a pitiful groan, " _Fine_!" Teeth gritted, she hisses cuttingly and rolls her eyes. "I don't need a doctor, it's just travel sickness. Air turbulence and all that."

 

"That's not true," The male, Jason, he introduces himself as, interjects matter-of-factly, "You were sick days before we flew out here, and it can't be travel sickness when you are at home and not even moving! Then there's the abdominal pain and dizziness-"

 

"Jason! Shut up." Bitter and ominous, she closes her eyes. "I probably just ate something dodgy."

 

"That's very helpful, Jason. Thank you." Bernie glances at him, lips pressed in a tight, appreciative smile, then diverts her attention back to the patient and purses her lips, "This does not look like food poisoning to me." Her features tactfully conceal her sincere suspects, now she thinks how best to address the situation.

 

"Elinor!" A rich and graceful voice echoes through the clusters of travellers, heels clipping at the floor. Familiar. "Oh my god, you gave me such a fright on the plane! Are you okay? What's wrong?!"

 

She bustles skilfully through the remainder of the crowds and halts abruptly, "Oh, hello Ms Wolfe."

 

Bernie lifts her head a little higher, awkwardly fiddles with a stray lock of golden hair and tucks it behind her ear. "Actually, it's _Major_." Clears her throat, "Major Wolfe...hello Serena."

"Bernie's a doctor Auntie Serena!"

 

"I don't need a doctor, I'm fine-" Elinor grumbles, pauses as her face pales and spews heavily again and unluckily off target as she covers the floor and Serena's shoes with the contents of her stomach.

 

Serena huffs and wrinkles her nose, sarcasm lacing her tone dryly. "Clearly."

 

"Stop fussing, Mother." Elinor complains dramatically, shoots the flight attendant a warning glare, "It's just travel sickness and a bad chilli con carne!"

 

"Please don't tell me you trusted Liberty's cooking _again_?!" Serena raises her hand elegantly, massages her temples that are beginning to throb and exhales a hearty sigh with a disapproving tut.

 

Bernie silently observes the exchange, index finger resting on her cheek and her thumb propped against her chin as she ponders carefully. She coughs and clears her throat, because enough time has been wasted. "I genuinely think that Elinor's symptoms are more than just motion sickness and a bad curry."

 

Serena purses her lips and squints fleetingly, dark opaque eyes glittering with apprehension and worry momentarily study her daughter's slouched and slumped manor. Examining and analysing the body language closely. "Appendicitis?"

She tilts her head to one side, tentatively strokes long, slender fingers over the newly revealed skin at the concave of her neck. Silky and flawless. The faint lines of candour and concern etch deep within Bernie's forehead, crinkle around her mouth.

 

"No...the pain isn't sourced from the right hand side." The surgeon hums dryly, swallows thickly as she twists her body away and lowers her tone to a hoarse whisper, "More serious....I'm concerned that the symptoms displayed could potentially match those of a psueudoaneuroyrsm of the-"

 

"-splenic artery." Serena finishes the statement promptly, blows out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

 

"How?"

 

"You're looking at a former vascular surgeon, highly respected back in my day." Facts. The air hostess clarifies simply and taps the toe of her shoe impatiently against the floor, "There'll be more time for small talk later. Time is of the essence right now."

 

"Yes, of course." _Focus Wolfe_. "I obviously needs to run a few tests and scans to confirm my hunch. I own one of the hospitals not far from here," Already, she's extracting her phone from her handbag, dialling the number of her most trusted medic.

 

"Let's go. We've wasted far too much time."


End file.
